


The Unforeseen Side Effects of Cooperation

by oceaxe



Series: Compulsion [2]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: 69 (Sex Position), Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Blow Jobs, M/M, Rimming
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-31
Updated: 2016-08-31
Packaged: 2018-08-12 01:44:55
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,698
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7915642
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/oceaxe/pseuds/oceaxe
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Harry keeps coming back for Draco's potion- and for Draco. He says he's never slept better in his life. Draco soon regrets cooperating in this scheme he's concocted; it turns out that fucking Potter may be more trouble than it's worth. </p><p>This story won't make much sense if you don't read The Dangers of Off-label Prescriptions first.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Unforeseen Side Effects of Cooperation

**Author's Note:**

> Many, many thanks for AmoretteHD for the beta and encouragement! You're the best, my dear!

It’s been a completely shit day, right up until Potter arrives. I’m a wreck, due to a fuck-up with some hensbane and a miscalibrated base solution that exploded all over the prep room. I look like someone’s taken a shit on my robes and rubbed it in my hair. When I realize that he’s shown up again while I’m in this state, I want to sink through the floor. I surreptitiously spell my hair clean, but I still look a right berk, I’m certain. 

As for Potter, he looks dangerously intent and it strikes me that he’s here to raise hell about his last visit. The potion, and what came after, didn’t help him sleep after all. Probably made his insomnia worse, having done _that_ with me of all people. And now he wants to exact revenge. Fuck. 

“Malfoy,” he practically barks. I jump, and curse myself for being so attuned to him. So cowed by him.

“Can I help you, Potter? Need any more quasi-legal potions? I’m afraid you’ll have to pay this time, the risk simply isn’t worth it otherwise,” I say with a slight sneer. My best defense is an offense, and I don’t plan to let him forget that I’m not the one who took an unlicensed lust potion in the presence of another person without knowing the potential side effects. 

His eyes lock onto mine and he simply says, “Yes,” and slams down a stack of Galleons on the counter, right next to my hand.

Holy fuck. That's not where I thought this was going. Even my dick is in shock, otherwise it would be hard already. I flinch away from him and try not to assume… the worst? The best? 

Are we going to do this again? 

Certainly not. That would be madness.

He wouldn’t. Would he? Is he…? I mean. It was pretty fucking good. _I_ was pretty fucking good. 

I realize I haven’t moved or responded. I shake myself and say, “Right. I’ll just be a moment.” 

I flee to the back room to retrieve the potion and try to calm my racing nerves. He’s going to—no, he won’t do it. He knows the drill. It was a mistake the first time. He was mortified. He’s just desperate for sleep, and he—he’ll go home and take the potion as instructed, by himself, before bed. It was—he was just sleep deprived, he—I force my brain to stop its panicked babbling.

As if in a dream, I find my hands automatically reaching for an empty vial, locating the potion, pouring in a measure, capping it. I numbly drift back out to the counter, against which Harry is leaning, facing away from me. His clothes, I notice, are less rumpled this time. He looks almost as if he took care with his appearance, which would be a first. For some reason this cheers me and I’m able to summon a smile to my face.

I clear my throat and put the vial down on the counter with a clack. He turns around to see me push it over to his side of the counter and our eyes meet again. A pang of lust wracks me, but I look away, down to where the stack of Galleons sits. It’s far too much money. I turn to the till to count out change for him. When I look up, he’s wiping his mouth and the vial sits empty on the counter—by Hades he’s done it again, the bastard.

My blood boils as I realise that we’re in for another ride, but I hide my reaction by feigning annoyance. 

“What the fuck, Potter? Didn’t you learn _anything_ from the last time?”

“It was.. it was really—I slept really well, Malfoy. I thought—last time you seemed to be enjoying it…” He looks miserable and I feel an unfamiliar emotion I might almost think is pity, if I were capable of that.

“Yeah, because I took the potion,” I lie. 

“Well, I can leave. If you don’t—” He breaks off, looking down and then raising his head and I swear, I swear on Dumbledore’s gigantic marble tomb, I swear on the Malfoy crypt, that there’s calculation hiding in that pleading, desperate look. “I just think, Malfoy—that was the best I’ve slept in ages. But I can leave—”

“We’ve covered that!” I rap out, more in desperation to prevent him from going than out of irritation that he’s yet again suggesting such a stupid course of action. “You’ll just end up attacking someone. Better that I—” My throat closes up and I turn and go to the back of the shop. My cock is hard already and I don’t want him to know. 

I return and toss and empty vial to the ground, just like before. I don’t even bother to say anything because the potion will have dulled his cognition to the point where words would be pointless. Something inside me is soaring and I realize that we could do anything. Anything. 

But I don’t want to do it here. I hop over the counter, grab his arm and Disapparate us to my flat. It’s nothing much to look at but it’s clean, it’s comfortable and I have everything here I might need. For, you know. _Anything_. 

We materialize in my bedroom with a crack and instead of letting go of his arm, I use it to pull him to me. Our chests and groins collide and oh, _there_ it is, his hard cock, I can feel the ridge of it pressing into mine and I grind up on it, burying my face in his smooth, strong neck. He smells completely intoxicating; I could be happy with my nose up his skin for a good long while. I lick and suck his skin and the taste of it makes me even harder. His hands have slid around to grope my arse and jerk me up against him; he’s basically rubbing me up and down his crotch. The heat between us is like a conflagration; I feel a bit out of control and that scares me.

I break away from him, panting. I can feel my own saliva on my cheek from having laved his neck and I wipe it off. 

He reaches for me and I put a hand on his chest, pushing him down on the bed and straddling him. I’m going to get acquainted with his cock this time; I barely saw it the last time and that’s been haunting me every since. He looks completely dazed and I suffer just a moment of regret that, once again, he only wants me because he’s dosed himself with artificial desire. His tongue darts out to lick his lips, so I fall on top of him and chase his tongue with my own. He really knows how to kiss, how to take a tongue in his mouth and do something with it. I wonder what else he can take.

As I explore his mouth, my hands are busy undoing his flies. As soon as I have the buttons undone, I sit back. He tries to follow me, his eyes unfocused and mouth shiny and bruised-looking. I smirk, or maybe it’s just a smile, and urge him back down with the tips of my fingers on his chest.

Then I strip him. His body isn’t perfect, but it’s perfect for me. Broad shoulders, narrow waist, hair in all the right places, and a nice fat cock that looks eager and ready to go. My mouth waters and my eyes flick back up to his. I give him a look of evil intent and then throw myself down upon him, taking most of him in with one swallow.

It’s not easy. His cock has a challenging girth but it’s worth the effort for the way his body reacts. I don’t bother with finesse, I just suck and swallow around the head, moving my head up and down for a few moments. He’s bucking and crying out, head thrashing from side to side. I feel powerful, almost like a god. I feel like I’m creating him from nothing, drawing him into being with the force of my desire. 

Despite that, I pull off of him and he gasps his disappointment. I shush him and push his knees up to his chest, then consider and push them farther, up by his ears. He’s flexible enough and I want the access. I don’t stop to wonder whether he wants it, he’s pliable and willing in my hands, no trace of resistance in his muscles or sounds. My dick throbs with urgent need to bury itself in something, but I ignore it. 

Potter’s feet bob ludicrously in the air—this is an inelegant position but he looks incredible to me, debauched and willing. I conjure some lube and slick it all around his arsehole, then I go to town. I lick with light fluttering touches, just sensitizing it briefly before I finger him. I slide one finger in and he moans, hips flexing. He’s got his head raised so he can see what’s going on. I shudder to see the look in his eye as he watches me breach him. For a moment, I fuck him with only the one finger and then I slide my other index finger in next to it. I plunge into him with both fingers, pulling his hole open. His eyes close and he howls. I duck down to thrust my tongue in between the fingers, as far as it will go. 

He’s loving this. He can’t get enough of this. I put my left hand on his hip to steady him while with the right I impale him on three fingers at once. Potter throws his head back and makes a guttural noise so loud and desperate that my cock gives a violent twitch as though it’s about to blow its load. I quell it with a grasp around the base and balls—there’s no way I’m coming yet. 

I piston my fingers in and out, angling them up to graze—oh, yes— _that_ spot, the spot that makes him buck and keen, that spot that pulls a man’s soul out through his cock. But not now, no, he’s going to have to wait for it. With a sigh, I withdraw my fingers and wrap them around my cock.

My cock is nothing special. Average length, average girth. But I’ve no idea whether he’s done this before and to judge by the tightness of his passage, I’m guessing no. The very idea that I will likely be the first to plow the Golden Boy of the Wizarding World into the fucking mattress upon which we lay is, shall we say, heady. My cock is harder than it’s ever been, the skin shiny and taut from engorgement. His arsehole is as ready as it needs to be. 

I put the glans up to his loose pink furl and rub against the wet, winking eye of his entrance. He flexes his back to encourage the friction and I press in, watching as every inch of my cock slowly disappears inside Harry Potter’s body. 

When I’m seated in him, hands gripping around his thighs, pushing him open wider, I look into his eyes. He’s glazed with pleasure and with the potion, and I wonder if he even really knows who is fucking him. It doesn’t matter. It feels good, that’s all that should matter. It feels _so_ fucking good. I start to move, sliding my cock into and out of his arse, watching it because looking at his face is just too intense. I close my eyes and focus on the sensations, the smell of him filling my nostrils—I can’t escape the fact that it’s Harry I have underneath me, Harry whose tight passage constricts against my dick. I say his name in my mind with every thrust. Harry. Harry. Harry.

He’s been moaning continuously since I started to move. I look down at him and he’s just gone on my cock, I surprise myself by blurting, “Take it. Yeah, that’s it. Take my cock, Potter. You love it. Ah, god, take it all.” He makes eye contact, dazed and so wanton that he nods, yes, he does love it, yes he does want to take it. “You take it so … ungh, fuuuuuuck, Potter.” I’m becoming incoherent. I still my thrusts because I’m too close to the edge, but he takes up the slack with whatever leverage he can get in his position. He’s desperate for more, for me inside of him, he wants me to move, to fuck him hard, to fuck him harder, oh fuck yes fuck yes please let me fuck you—my hips pound against his arsecheeks and the sound of it is beyond filthy. I pump him full of my come, babbling a stream of nonsense under my breath. 

I am afraid to think about the things I might have said as I climaxed on top of Harry Potter, buried in his arse. He clenches rhythmically around my still-hard cock as he covers his stomach with his release, his head thrown back and face contorted in what looks like ecstasy. I never thought to see that expression on his face and I wish now that I could unsee it. It will certainly be haunting me.

We’re both panting. I slide out of him and collapse on the bed by his side. The position feels wrong, too intimate—as though we’d shared something, when really we’d just fucked for no good reason. No good reason except the Chosen One’s regret-driven depressive episode that can only apparently be cured with the healing power of a lust potion. 

I have really gotten myself in it this time.

I keep my eyes closed but I am on high alert. He’s got to have come down from the potion by now, and rational thought will awaken. Will he stay—no. At least this time I didn’t Vanish his clothes, although in retrospect that was rather hilarious. 

He sits up abruptly. As I thought he would, he rises from the bed without a word to me and locates his clothes, tugging them on quickly. He must be pretty fucking desperate for sleep. A cold chill goes through me—why does he think I’m going along with this? I push that thought aside to deal with later. 

I can see from underneath my lashes that he’s fully clothed once again, if you can call those rags “clothes.” He moves towards the door, then stops and turns back around. I do him the courtesy of opening my eyes and propping myself on my elbows. 

“Thanks, you know. For—that,” he says, gesturing to the bed. “And for not Vanishing my clothes. Um.”

“Quite alright, Potter. Next time make an appointment,” I say with mild sarcasm. I wouldn’t want him to think there are hard feelings, but I also need to assert some sort of control over this. 

“Oh, right. Right. Could I?”

“Could you what?” I ask, suspicion dawning.

“Make, you know. An appointment.” 

“For?” I know what he wants but I’m going to make him spell it out.

“For the potion. To get the potion. And.” 

When he said ‘for the potion,’ my heart lurched with disappointment. Then he said ‘and.’ There’s really no need to lie to myself, and whatever reason he thinks I have for going along with this probably has more to do with Slytherin manipulation than any suspicion of feelings, or desire. And hell, he’s going to owe me for eternity.

“And this,” I elaborate, waving my hand around at the rumpled bed sheets. He turns a violent shade of puce but meets my eyes to say, “Yes.” 

“Mm,” I say, not at all wanting to seem eager. I’m not eager. I’m torn as fuck and scared as hell. 

“I could make it worth—”

“Stop. No. I was going to agree, but now you’re making me reconsider.” 

“Sorry. I’m sorry.” 

Salazar, is that a rush. Making the Savior apologize, and so cravenly. I could get used to this. 

“Don’t do it again. You can come by next Thursday.” 

“That’s a week from now.” He sounds very disappointed, almost despairing. Yes, I could definitely get used to this.

“Come by around six. I’ll be able to close up the shop early.” 

He nods and pulls out his wand, ready to Apparate. “Guess I’ll see you in a week.” He smiles awkwardly and winks out of the room with a whipcrack noise. 

How in hell will I get through the next week, I wonder.

\-----

Thursday comes, Harry comes, I come. He allows me to do things to him I never thought I’d get to do outside of a fantasy. He allows his total debasement at my hands and I believe that he enjoys it—I almost allow myself to believe he might enjoy it even without the potion. But that way lies madness. 

But the sex is so good—he is so _good_ at taking my cock—that I can’t maintain my commitment to stringing him along at once per week. I agree to meet again in only four days’ time. The next time I agree to meet again after only two days. We hardly talk during these encounters. We strip, we fuck, he goes. We’ve got a routine going. My body could hardly be happier with the situation. My soul feels frankly sullied, my heart—best not think of it. As if I have one. This is better than I could expected from life, given my choices. I should be on my knees to Merlin and all his acolytes. 

Which brings me to today. I am on my knees, but not in front of Merlin. 

We’ve both taken the potion—well, he’s taken his and I’ve made a show of taking mine. His prick bounces in front of my face, and I want to deep-throat him but he’s just too big. I can only take half of it in my mouth before I start to gag. An idea forms in my mind—one that scares me but seems too compelling to discard. I smirk up at him and turn around to face the bed, propping my arms on the bedclothes and thrusting my arse out invitingly. “Want a go?” I say. It comes out more seductive than challenging. 

A dark fire lights Harry’s gaze. He drops to his knees and shuffles up behind me, his cock bumping artlessly against my arsecheeks. I spread my cheeks with my hands and whisper the spells—I put my own fingers in my hole so he can’t miss that I’m completely ready. “Fuck me, Potter,” and before the words have properly reached his ears he’s spearing me, the head breaching my rim painfully. But I’m eager—I don’t do this often but for some reason it feels like the thing to do tonight. I mutter _Lubricus_ again and bear down on his prick. He meets me halfway and within a few seconds I’m completely impaled on his thick cock, feeling full to bursting. I have to steady myself for a moment—this is more overwhelming than I had recalled. This is fucking intense.

He grabs me by the hips and moves his groin back and forth slightly, rocking side to side within me. It feels…. Fucking hell. My head lolls on my neck, I feel like a puppet suspended from his cock. I lengthen my spine, pushing with my arms against the bed and further onto him. I swear, I’m half in love with the sounds he makes. I can’t afford to admit that, but it’s true. He sounds animalistic, a beast that wants to devour me. Desire churns in my guts, separate from the sensation of his prick grazing the walls of my channel. I start moving on him, taking him in and out, fucking my self. He growls and takes control of the situation, pumping hard. I adore the sensations he’s causing but I wish I could see his face as he takes me. 

We fuck each other, thrusting towards the other brutally. I can’t help but feel as though I’m trying to fuse with him. I assume the potion must have hit him especially hard tonight, because he’s fucking with a fervor he hasn’t shown before. 

I let myself engage in a dangerous fantasy—it causes my orgasm to spiral up my spine in an incendiary streak. I jet come onto the coverlet, he spurts his release deep inside me and we fall apart. He collapses to the floor behind me as I climb up on the bed and lay on my stomach to give my arse some respite after that reaming. My hand trails down to the soft patterned rug, almost grazing his calf. My eyes flutter shut and a thrill of horror races through me as I realize they’ve closed on wetness. I should not have let him fuck me. That was a mistake.

He murmurs something which I don’t quite catch. “Mm?” I inquire, hoping to seem nonchalant, hiding my turmoil.

“That was amazing. Thank you,” he says, evidently for the second time. My heart constricts. I don’t say anything for awhile. 

“You’re sleeping better, then?” I say eventually, when I feel like my voice will sound neutral.

He huffs a slight laugh. “Better than ever,” he says. “Better than I ever have. In my life.”

Fuck him. Fuck him all to hell. I want to burst into tears like a tiny child. How dare he suggest this is good for him? It’s terrible for me. Terrible. And I can’t stop. 

Long moments drift by. I open my eyes to see him nearly asleep on the floor. Against all my better judgment, I open my mouth to say, “Don’t sleep on the rug like a dog, Potter. Get up here.” 

Potter clambers up beside me and lays down. We fall asleep together, nearly entwined.

In the morning, he proposes a session the next day and I agree, knowing that I’m in hell. There’s no way out of this for me, no one to save me from myself since the only possible savior is my tormentor and he isn’t aware that I need saving from him. I know that if he suspected my—shall we say, ‘situation’—he would find another way to get what he needs. He wouldn’t continue with this arrangement; disgust and pity would collude to destroy his precious rest. Gryffindors are contemptibly predictable.

Come the morrow, we’re fucking again, this time with me on top in my proper place. I straddle him and move up and down into the infinite release of climax—but it’s all a mirage because miserable reality intrudes the moment I come down from the high. 

I slide away from him, laying on the bed but not touching him at any point. He rolls to his side and touches my face. I close my eyes, pretending exhaustion. 

“Thank you for doing this, Malfoy,” he says and again, I can’t stop the tears gathering under my lashes. By the mercy of the gods, they don't fall and I can pretend to myself that they were never there. I have to stop this.

Within two days we’re back on top of each other again, and I mean that in the literal sense. We are between each other’s legs, sucking dick and eating arse. I have taken this man a long way in a relatively short time and he’s been an incredibly quick study. He’s a natural at the kinds of intimacy possible between two men—and this act feels like the most intimate of all. 

I’m on top of him, holding his muscular arse in both my arms and pulling him onto my face, burying my tongue in him. He’s beneath me, alternately tonguing my hole and deep throating my cock. We’re eating each other whole, consuming every taste and smell of which our bodies are capable. I’m endlessly alive to every shift of his body, smallest moan or grunt, my mouth continuously watering in desire, facilitating the slide of my tongue over every ridge, nook and cranny of his most sensitive, filthy parts. He comes in my mouth with my fingers in his arse and I swallow, reveling in the taste of him.

I’m close to coming when my horrible brain, always working away in the background, finally puts it all together—the puzzle resolves into my love for him and the total impossibility of its return. I gasp around his cock, pull away and squeeze my eyes shut. 

My erection wilts and I groan in shame, in horror, in resignation. Potter makes an inquiring noise, and I freeze inside. There’s no point continuing the charade. If not now, he’ll soon twig to the fact that the potion isn’t supposed to allow me to go soft until I’ve come, one way or the other. 

I lift myself off of him and walk across the room to lean in the doorway, facing away from him. I don’t know what I’m going to do or say. Why am I standing here? Is it possible I’m trying to block him from leaving? That’s only inevitable once he realizes the truth. 

“What happened?” Potter comes up behind me, and I feel his cock against my arse. Even after he’s come, he’s frequently more or less hard for awhile. I’ve never had the opportunity to find out if he could come more than once in quick succession, because he’s always used the potion and the potion releases you from desire after one orgasm.

I take a deep breath and turn around. I’d rather not look at him while I explain, but I suppose I owe it to him. It’s not as though I’ve done anything overtly illegal, but I did deliberately lead him to believe I was equally under the influence. 

“Potter. Look. I haven’t—the truth is I wasn’t. I didn’t take the potion this time. Fuck it. I never took the potion because I never—never needed it. I just wanted y—I didn’t intend for this to happen. You’re the one who took the potion first…” I trail off because he’s raised his hands to hold my face. My breath stutters in my throat. I’m caught by his clear gaze as he leans in. I have no idea what is happening.

“I didn’t need it either, Malfoy,” he says quietly, incomprehensibly. “I took it that first time, but not again after.” These last unbelieveable words are whispered against my lips, and then he captures them with his own. He’s just brushing his mouth over mine softly but it feels like he’s touching every part of me, tendrils of desire curling out from the kiss and into some unknown crevasse of need. The familiar urgency between us has shifted from our exterior forms to an internal drive. 

I push against him, bewildered almost beyond words. “You didn’t—you haven’t been,” I manage, before he reclaims my mouth. We kiss for long moments and I feel like I’m drowning in it. 

Eventually he pulls away and answers my attempt at a question. “No, Malfoy. I wanted you. I _want_ you, like this. For a long time.” His hands are coming around to my arse again, urging me up against his groin where I feel his persistent erection. I love how he stays hard. I love the way he kisses with his entire being. I love the feeling growing between us right now though it terrifies me. 

I thrust against him with my returning hard-on and wind my hands into his hair; thick, soft and lovely. “For a long time?” I mumble against his cheek. I can feel his nod. 

Desire chokes any further words. I give in, I give up, I give myself over to this. It doesn’t matter whether he’s wanted this for a long time, or if he wants to do this for a long time, or both. I don’t care—all I hear is that he wants it. He wants it. 

He wants me.

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> Come say hi to me on [Tumblr](http://www.oceaxereturns.tumblr.com)!


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